The Impurity of Snow White
by cornerstreetshop
Summary: Eleanor Reeds was an orphan, the only other orphan Tom tolerated.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1. Of Snakes.**

**So, I'm starting another story....The end is near on the other and I just can't twiddle my thumbs waiting for it...bam.**

**This story starts off in the sixth book, where Harry goes into Dumbledore's memory of meeting Tom Riddle for the first time.**

**Own Eleanor and her diary only.**

**Review por favor, it's the currency of authors.**

* * *

Dumbledore shut the door as quietly as he could while the boy inside sat awe-struck on his bed. As he turned to face the door, he was startled by the elderly orphanage caretaker already there.

"Eleanor's bedroom is down the hall, the last door," The woman said, pointing a tired finger towards said door, right by a cold window facing a brick wall and a sputtering radiator.

"Thank you," Dumbledore replied politely as he shifted his coat in his hand before stepping one foot out to follow her finger.

When he had taken three steps, the woman spoke one more time.

"And you're quite sure you have room for the both of them in your…school?"

Dumbledore stopped mid-step to cautiously turn around and take a look at the woman.

"Is there something about Eleanor I should know?"

The woman shifted on her feet for a few moments before returning her gaze upon the bearded man in the hall.

"She's not like Tom, she doesn't really do anything to the other children- ignores them rather. But Tom doesn't ignore her, she's the only one Tom'll ever listen to."

"And that worries you?" Dumbledore leaned forward a little with his usual curious face, which made the woman to subconsciously whisper.

"She is not a normal person to follow, Sir."

He leaned backwards, the twinkle returned to his eye. He gave her a small smile before saying "There is always room at my school" before turning back around and headed towards the door.

A quaint "enter" followed his knock on the ratty oak door, to reveal a girl no older than 11 lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

If Harry hadn't heard the "enter" himself, and if he hadn't realized that the room was completely empty besides the girl, he would've sworn that Snow White herself was on the bed instead of the "Eleanor" he had heard been mentioned in the memory. Just by her hands, Harry could tell she was pale- not deathly- just the pale you'd expect from an orphanage.

As she sat up, while the Dumbledore in the purple suit stood patiently by the door, Harry saw her face for the first time and immediately looked to the Dumbledore he knew- he just smiled a little and nodded his head toward the scene.

Eleanor's face was pale, like the rest of her, but her features were not expected. Harry knew, even though she wasn't even a teenager, that'd she'd be beautiful. Her face was effortlessly small, which made her dark eyes seem that much bigger and her nose stopped in a pixie fashion before two pink lips sat upon her skin, framing the small chin she had. Raven hair sat atop her head, messy from the pillow she just laid on, yet it still managed to coexist in the young girl's apparent world of fairytales.

"Eleanor," The Dumbledore in the purple suit spoke after a few moments of staring between the two. Eleanor had placed her hands neatly in her lap. "I'm Professor Dumbledore."

If she had known of him before, or if she hadn't, Harry didn't know. She just said in a strong voice that ought not to have come out of someone so fable-ish, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Ah, you have heard of me then?"

"Sir, if you thought I had, you wouldn't have introduced yourself."

It was a quick response and came out a little hostile, but Dumbledore didn't loose his twinkle. Instead, he took a step forward; Eleanor's face still looked at his with an alien expression.

"I do think that you are not like the other children, and I do think you know it."

The expression, for the first time Harry saw, wavered faintly as her eyebrows elegantly twinged themselves upward slightly. Her mouth stonely moved, "It all depends on what children you are talking about."

It seemed odd for an eleven year old to speak this way, Harry didn't even speak that way- but for the porcelain doll in front of him it seemed normal.

"I am talking about everyone here besides Tom." This time her eyebrows fell slightly.

"He never leaves me alone," Her hands moved to rest on her bed on either side of her. "He brings snakes into my room and pretends they can hear him- then asks me if I can."

"And can you?" Dumbledore asked earnestly. Eleanor just eyed him further.

"What are you doing here, Sir?"

"Professor Dumbledore, as I said," His coat shifted in his hand a bit. "And the school where I teach has an opening for a child like you."

Eleanor sat on her bed, continuing the staring contest between the elder and the younger. It seemed like ages went by while the dark brown stared into the bright blue, Harry wondered how anyone could undergo such a stare from either one for that long.

"Was I chosen over Tom?"

"No, there is plenty of room for both of you- it's quite a big castle."

Harry got the feeling that any other time Dumbledore had gone to tell a child they were going to Harry, he tried to impress them with the castle part- but Eleanor still seemed skeptic.

"If Tom tries to bring me another snake to chat, I'm leaving and never going back, Sir."

As the entire room started to blur, Harry felt himself and the real Dumbledore slide backwards out of the pensive and onto the stone floor of Dumbledore's office.

"That was…" Harry trailed off, when he heard about his meetings with Dumbledore, he didn't imagine this.

"Lord Voldemort, yes," Dumbledore finished for him. A silence fell upon them, before a question popped into Harry's head.

"That was him, but who was the girl?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, much like in the memory.

"That, Harry, was Eleanor Reeds." He said it in such a way that made it seem as if everyone had heard of Eleanor Reeds- which made Harry in turn feel stupid for following up with another question.

"Who is Eleanor Reeds?"

Dumbledore didn't answer this time; he instead turned his back to Harry and started to rummage through the papers in his desk, intensely looking for something. Just as Harry was about to ask what he was looking for, Dumbledore pulled out a black book from a drawer with a soft "Aha!"

Harry knew that black book.

"What does Tom Riddle's diary have to do with Eleanor Reeds?"

"If you look closely, Harry, you'll realize this is not Tom Riddle's diary."

Harry did look closer, and did realize that there was no hole in the middle where the basilisk's fang should have left.

"That is," Harry said slowly. "Eleanor Reeds' diary, then."

The smile on Dumbledore's face let Harry know that he was correct.

"You're not just going to learn about Voldemort through his eyes, Harry. You're going to learn about him through others who surrounded him- see how others perceived him." Dumbledore handed Harry the diary. As soon as Harry got the diary, he flipped through the book. Unlike Tom's, this one had actual writing in it- neat handing writing. Not decorative, or girly- just neat. He also noticed every page had been filled.

"You want me to read all of this, Sir?"

"You might want to get started soonly, my boy."

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore wants you to read all of this," Hermoine glanced at the diary on the round table in the common room. "with all of your N.E.W.T classes?"

"Well now that you mention it, he did keep mentioning about how wonderful of a coaster it made."

She did not look amused, instead she stole a glance at Ron who sat hunched over a bit of parchment, scribbling down words.

"Harry, you can barely get your work done as it is-"

"Oh will you lay off him?" Ron said, clearly annoyed. He had a paper to finish by tomorrow. "Unless you'd like to go to Dumbledore, give the book back and explain why Harry can't read 150 pages of 'Henry Finnigan is the cutest', then stop badgering him!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, yet some how everything seemed less funny when he saw the stern face upon Hermoine's face.

"Why would you support a girl who has obvious ties to Voldemort?" Hermoine snapped at Ron, who shuddered slightly at his name.

"We don't know how she has ties, though and the only way to find out is to read. Besides, aren't you always telling me to read more?" Harry grinned triumphantly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

**Thank you to madluv, Sarah G, InsanseLOTRElf, and Emily92 for alerting! Thank you to scrockangerl, and Reprimandedangel for favoriting this story all ready! Special thanks to Emily92, madluv and chini for reviewing!!!! You make me happy!**

**Bah. I can't write from a child's perspective, I can't even remember what I thought as a child (possibly it was filled with why I hadn't become a Spice Girl yet and why I can't win a single game of monopoly...). But I don't really consider Eleanor a child, you know? She's a very jaded person and I hope people don't get stuck on the fact that an eleven year old is so dark...**

* * *

Mrs. Cole gave me a diary to commemorate my stay at Hogwarts, although at the time she suggested as soon as I get back, I read my entries out loud to the other children- as if my life was meant to be story-time, does she not understand an orphan should never write one for others to hear? She clearly doesn't understand what Hogwarts is, also, and while it would be amusing to tell her all about the magical things she wouldn't have a clue to, it'd be quite unfortunate to stay grounded in my room for the rest of the summer. Although I suppose it'd be a relief not to have Tom come into my room every other day. And it'd be almost a fantasy to never have a slimy snake in my room again- maybe I should read my entries a loud.

She gave Tom a diary, too. Mrs. Cole is a very original person, as you can tell (and I am a very deranged person for addressing you). He's not writing in his, yet, as I am. I never pictured him to be a writer, though, and definitely not the sentimental type. Of course, that makes me sound as if I picture him often, which then makes room for the idea that I actually enjoy his company to some extent- and that's a colossal lie. He hasn't stopped pestering me since Dumbledore left, insisted that we go to Diagon Alley together- he's done everything but chain me to him. Even now he's in my train compartment, although he's on the other side near the door while I'm lying against the window. I assume he's asleep, but he's be known to lie in his bed for four hours after he wakes up simply because he does not want to be bothered by the other children- I tried his ploy once and yet he still managed to know I was faking. Tom has always felt some sort of camaraderie to me, ever since I got to the orphanage when I was six, and I suppose both of us being magic explains it. But that does not mean I enjoyed it- he does not understand the meaning of the words "Leave Me Alone" if they do not escape his own lips. My own mother had just died, and he wanted to sit in my room uncomfortably for three hours without speaking a word?

And much to my own chagrin, no other person dared to sit in our compartment- they took one look in, decided that pale was unacceptable, then promptly moved on to find a tighter, less comfortable compartment. Not that I had any plans to make friends here, are you honestly expected to keep in contact with people whom you shared interests with when you still thought that politics were boring and the paper was for old people? For connections, I suppose having friends would be an ideal thing- but we're eleven years old, no connections stretch that far back without a trust fund involved – and seeing that I have no fund to be trusted with, making friends with anyone would be pointless. But for the sake of Tom finally finding a friend, it'd suffer through "No, I didn't know I was magic until a bird flew through my window" a thousand times.

Tom's waking up, I would hate for him to try and ask me what I'm writing about.

* * *

Harry had a headache after reading the first entry of Eleanor's diary- even though he knew Ron was joking at the time, he sort of expected her entries to be full of "Henry Finnigan". Instead, he got pretentious words from a girl that looked like she shouldn't even know that dogs die, let alone never see a purpose in friends beside connections. She didn't even date her entries, she just indented the first line of a new entry and continued writing in the neat, un-child-like script.

It made sense, though, that person that dark should be equated with Lord Voldemort, and Harry was genuinely curious as to how her mother died, so he read on.

* * *

A horrible thought crossed my mind today, although I suppose that's not much of a stretch for a second year Slytherin. All that's required in this house is a scowl and a proof of birth- Tom and I have both got the scowl down, but the proof of birth? Needless to say, we're not very liked among our own house. While in any other house, that'd cause mental stress, but in a cut-throat house like Slytherin? We're the outcasts of the outcasts, a form of elitism that the others will some day fear, as Tom likes to say. Part of my outcast-ism is Tom's fault though, he barely leaves my side. The only time is when I go into my dorm at night, but even when I wake up in the morning, he is standing right down by the steps, as if that was where he slept. I hadn't managed to get him to tell me why he was there, though, and that's what bothers me most about our situation. It's odd to even mention our situation as if we had a relationship to begin with- we barely speak at all. I go to the library; he sits at the same table. I grab a piece of bacon from the Great Hall and he has to bring a mug of orange juice to enjoy while we eat outside. It was quite a game of cat and mouse, only less hostile and the only way to win was to say the least possible.

Just like back in the orphanage, the other children are scared of him. What they're afraid of, I haven't the faintest clue. He was just a boy who realized the harsh realities of life faster than themselves, there's no use in fearing maturity. In his maturity, he's also very determined- he's already cornered Slughorn several times to talk about careers- Slughorn laughs him off though. He's a favorite of his because Tom can brew any potion well within thirty minutes, but there has to be something more. I can brew with the same accuracy and time, yet Slughorn always insists I had Tom's help. It disturbs me how single minded this man is. And yet, no matter how much in favor he is with all the teachers (while I'm at his same skill level, and pushed aside), the other children still see the teacher's pet as a threat. Thusly, I'm stuck with the same fear they show Tom- as if his wryly ways have rubbed off on me. What they don't understand is I refuse to have Tom rub off on me- I am capable of being a working part of society without the crutch of someone else.

The horrible thought came to me during History of Magic, talking about some war that had the outcome of every other war that we've ever learned about. That was the trick to his tests that the other students hadn't learned yet, you just needed to know the oppressed in the situation to know the winner- history always repeats itself. I was over-hearing some Ravenclaw's conversation about what they'll do as soon as they get home- about all the presents they'd get from their parents. And I sat and thought about what I'd be like if some poor soul had adopted me as a Christmas gift.

Firstly, humans should never be given as a gift- we're more unpredictable than the size of a sweater- so adopting a child for Christmas should never be condoned. Secondly, I do not want to be adopted. Unlike the others, who see the orphanage as a train station to their real home, I see it as the only home I could imagine an independent person could grow up in. You aren't coddled there, no one expects you do mess up or clean the lawn. You are forced to crawl along the ground, feel the groves of the ground before you can even think about standing up. You understand the way fate works before you understand the way hope works. If I get adopted, I'll be forced back onto the ground again and I've been standing for far too long to drop back down.

* * *

"Blimey she's a depressed person," Ron said loudly at breakfast, between bites of an omelet. "Only a second year and she hates all the teachers here?"

"It seems she had a reason too," Hermoine granted painfully. Harry knew that Hermoine hated acknowledging that anything Eleanor wrote had a grain of truth, she was a dark and tired child and Hermoine was a constant reminder to Harry that Eleanor still had a chance to be optimistic, she just ignored it. "Even though she's dramatic, it sounds as if girls were greatly understated in her time- Slughorn didn't even allow her to join his club"

"I wonder what changed his mind,"

All three of the students bent forward a little and tilted their head towards the teacher's table at the end of the room- Slughorn was chatting happily with another professor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

**Wow you guys, I forget to check my email for three days and I have eight from this site! I am so very pleased that this story it well liked. **

**Thank you Tibys for reviewing/alerting/favoriting! Hopefully this somewhat answers your need to see what happens next? Can't give too much away, you know?**

**Chini- She's the brightest ray of sunshine! Ha, it's a bit fun writing from a cynic's point of view. Kind of cathartic.**

**Thank you Crackedlips, and Katie for alerting this!**

**Note- I am not including all the entries within Eleanor's diary. It'd be terribly long and ridiculous to write all of it, and most of it probably would not be important to the plot (so why include it at all?).**

* * *

Something doesn't feel right. Not in the sense that some ridiculous black cloud is going to poor over the train, spewing sad thoughts upon everyone- but in the sense that while Tom and I were walking down the aisle to our compartment, people stared. For the past two years, they've never stared- sat completely still in their own, as if we couldn't see them if they weren't moving, but this year was different. Some girls even had the gull to stand up and look out their windows at Tom, as if he was suddenly a handsome young man. Even though my dislike towards him and his constant need to be near me has not subsided, I'd be lying to say that he didn't have a well-structured face- and lying is beneath me. I can not figure out why, though, these girls decided that this was the year to notice that fact. Perhaps it was because he was finally an inch taller than me, a fact that he pointed out rather dully last July. I knew that he was actually excited by it though, his monotone voice isn't convincing.

Even as we were settled in our compartment, him reading some dark book he bought at Flourish and Blotts, me pretending that I was asleep- people would open up the door as if it was an accident, giggle and apologize for not realizing that it was already full, and left. I'd hardly call two people in one singular compartment full, but our personas that have been built in the subsequent years might have made it feel cramped. What puzzled me even further, were the amount of boys that did it- it almost paralleled the amount of girls. Has there been a recent epidemic among the outside world that made our generation go blind? If so, this year will either be grindingly painful, or painfully humorous.

* * *

Orion Black wants to escort me to Hogsmeade this weekend. A seventh year, he'd never talked to me before- I always assumed that even the upperclassmen have heard of the anti-social feeling Tom emits. But Orion was different; he acted as if he couldn't feel the vibe at all and even had the courage to ask me in front of Tom, as well as the whole school. It's a wonder that boy was not sorted into Gryffindor. It was during breakfast, the weather decided it was time to rain, so Tom and I were stuck inside eating. Just as I finished my French toast, Orion waltzed up with a sloppy, but quaint smile upon his lips that he clearly used for female seduction only. Unlike all the other boys who'd decided to talk (and by talk, I mean giggle incessantly while asking me if my day had been a good one, then leaving quickly), Orion came up to me alone and didn't even bother sitting across from me at the table. He just stood, and without loosing his grin he said "Hogsmeade is this weekend".

I replied with "You are not the first one to assume I can't read a calendar, I'm sorry but I assure you I can."

I could hear Tom stop drinking his orange juice (it was an obsession, I suppose since we didn't have any at the orphanage). I could also feel him stare at the transaction before him, but there was nothing he could do and there was nothing I wanted to do about it.

Orion's grin never left, though. I opened my mouth to ask him if he was under some sort of tortuous curse when he replied quicker than my tongue could move.

"Then you must have read the part where I'm going to escort you, Eleanor Reeds."

He grinned even wider, if that was possible. It was a sappy grin- it was a controlled grin, an all knowing grin. Before I could correct him, or even say anything to disprove him, he walked out of the Great Hall with confidence that could have equaled Tom's.

For the first time, Tom was completely silent on the matter. The rest of breakfast, we didn't talk at all about what lowly person was trying to talk to me (or us). That was the one commonality that we shared, we had unwanted visitors attempting to gain our friendship, and it was the only thing we talked about.

What was even stranger was that Tom wasn't by my side for the rest of the day. In the classes we shared, yes- he even sniggered when the divination professor told me that I'd find love in an unexpected place, but when I went to the library to finish an essay- he didn't accompany me. He didn't even wait at the end of the staircase when I went off to bed.

I'm very positive Orion escorting me was the best thing to happen.

* * *

I suppose I'm being courted by Orion Black. Ever since our Hogsmeade trip (which went very smashingly), he has filled Tom's shoes in being my shadow. This time it was less annoying- Orion actually talked to me and introduced me to some of his friends. I don't enjoy his friends, unlike Orion; they're all single and talk about whatever girl has finally become acceptable to date. Orion constantly apologizes for their one-tracked mind, that because arranged marriages were common in pureblood families, they often tried to mate with as many females as possible because they knew once they graduated; they'd actually have to grow up. I asked him once why he wasn't betrothed, since he was after all a pureblood- he laughed and asked me what makes me so sure that he wasn't already.

I glared at him, then and refused to speak to him the rest of the night. I will not be like one of the filth that his friends rave about, I will not be the last fling before a ball and chain is attached.

Of course that prompted him to quickly apologize the next morning and assure me that he was indeed, not betrothed. His family is respectable enough that he's trusted to find his own pureblood bride. I didn't bother telling him I was an orphan, and it was a known fact if I was pureblood- everyone and their grandmother knew this already. I decided it'd be best not to dwell on the fact that this relationship wasn't meant to last, he'd be expected sooner or later to find a true pureblood, and not take a chance with a question mark like me- I never fully intended on marrying anyways. After the marriage, it'd be nonsensical not to have a child and I'm positive they would not turn out as strong as I did, they'd have a family who'd dote on them and never know hardship. And I'm positive that my husband would find it ludicrous to put a perfectly good child with a perfectly good family up for adoption just to learn how to struggle.

Instead of talking about our future, Orion tells me of his. About how he's going to be an auror, about what house he'll build and how many h e he'll have. He has numerous connections within the Ministry, he tells me, so he'll most likely get a better position in his field faster than all the other students he'll be training with. He tells me that I should start building connections within our school, that there was nothing wrong with having a leg up on the competition. I asked him how exactly I was supposed to do that- his friends hardly seemed like they'd be capable of getting me firewhisky illegally, let alone a job I actually wanted and whenever I wasn't with Orion, Tom was there in class, keeping anyone a good five feet away from us.

Tom's supposed to be my ticket towards connections, Orion tells me. Some how, Orion sees him making friends with the right people- already in the Slug Club, and flattering teachers in all the right ways. I myself have never witnessed it, but that's partially the sexist oaf's fault. I actually finished a potion three minutes earlier than Tom, and that fool decided to keep idly busy until Tom had finished his to make his way over to our table.

* * *

"What business does a Seventh Year have with a Third Year?"

Even though it had been entries since the first mention of Orion in Eleanor's diary, Ron was still completely puzzled by his interest. Orion's mentions always slightly interested Harry, though. It was a relative of Sirius- was it possible that Sirius was related to Eleanor? He hadn't seen her name on his family tree, but there were enough blasts on the branches for him to have missed her. It was one of the only times he could tink of Sirius without a pang of guilt.

"Just because Lav-Lav is conveniently in our year," Hermoine said pointedly. They were sitting in the common room on a late Saturday night. Everyone else had gone up to bed, except them and Harry saw it as a perfect time to fill them in on what was happening in her diary. "Does not mean that others are that lucky."

Ron looked confusedly offended and was about to say something before Harry interrupted, he could not imagine anything Ron said would smooth things over between the two.

"You remember how she keeps talking about boys coming up to her with no apparent reason; I seriously doubt it was because they wanted to just say 'Hi'. No guy embarrasses himself like that unless it's because he likes her." Saying that bitterly reminded Harry of Cho.

"But a bloody Seventh Year? She must be one hell of a looker." Ron stated.

Hermoine gave him a sharp look.

"Don't you remember anything? Harry said that she looked like Snow White when she was only eleven, it's been two years-"

"But if she was always Flurry White, then why didn't they talk to her before?" Ron interrupted.

"Snow White," She corrected annoyed. Ron had never heard of that m fairytale, thus he always got the name wrong. "And did you think Lavender was the prettiest girl when you were eleven? They obviously hit puberty."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chatper 3**

**Um. So both this AN (P.S. I am not going to type out full pennames, I'm lazy) and chapter is going to be long....**

**Thank you for alerting- Chibi, Diina, Kellie, and Miss Musa!**

**Thank you for favoriting- The Keeper of Magic (and I really like your name), everyonepanic,and MissMusa!**

**Thank you for reviewing- The Keeper, I hope you like where it's going!  
Chini- sorry there's not more information, I'm very limited into how each day is spent in Hogwarts and what not, so I just try to write plot-worthy information.  
Jan- here you go!  
MissMusa- thank you!**

* * *

If it weren't for the fact that Orion started to court me two months into school, then last year would have been the most Tom free I'd have. But this year I started out with Orion and I have barely been in the same room as him for longer than two seconds, other than class and the train ride. Ironies of ironies, I'm still as avoided as I was when I was near Tom. The other girls ignore me simply because I've never once showed an interest in anything they actually liked. The boys ignore me because I'm Orion's property, and it's preposterous that any interaction can go on with me if I was seeing another person.

Our relationship during the summer and during the school year always puzzles me- well during the subsequent school years- this one has no signs of being normal. He was never needy during the summer, instead of sneaking snakes into my room; he'd hide out in his- brooding most likely. It's as if he was afraid of the wizarding world was contaminating me.

This summer, he'd ask me how Orion was every so often and that'd be it. He, of course, was the only one to know of Orion at the orphanage. I couldn't very well tell Mrs. Cole and not expect countless taunting, or not-so-subtle hints that I should spend some of the holiday with him and his family. I would never think to spend the holiday with him. While he insisted that I couldn't because of my unknown blood-status and his family was very obsessed- I internally insisted that I couldn't because I did not want to spend all twenty four hours with a singular person in a strange house. In the orphanage I know where I can go, what I can do and who I can talk to, if I want, at any time of the day. In his house, I'd most definitely feel like an outsider, I'd feel as if all my motions were on display and I do not need Orion to see my movements.

It's a little strange, though, keeping up a relationship purely on letters. It seems his letters come much faster than mine, he says it's because his work is not very mind-consuming and he has a lot of time outside of school. There'd be no gain in my telling him that I actually avoid writing him a letter for two days after I receive his, so I just let him think that I have buried with school work. I don't really understand the point of us still having a relationship while we're no longer in the same vicinity- but I know that if we break it off, Tom'll somehow know and cling to me like body odor. Between being avoided by the rest of the human race because of Tom or Orion, I'll choose Orion any day.

* * *

I spent Christmas for a second time at the Black Family house and he broke up with me. It wasn't exactly the coldest thing to happen there, the first time I was interrogated by his mother so violently that some of the jewels on her chandelier shook off. I couldn't tell if it was because her voice got louder and louder with each of my "I don't know, ma'am" answers or if it was because I was getting tired of repeated the same answer, but ultimately it was her fault. I was aware that she knew I was an orphan, so asking about my family was obviously a stupid mistake. Somehow she knew that my mother died when I was six, so she was under the impression that it was a normal practice for six year olds to question about family origins.

It was the night before I left for Hogwarts again, I suppose he had this planned so that we didn't go through the whole holiday awkwardly- although his emotions were not very well masked during. He kept his eyes on everything but me the entire time - not a very common practice for Orion Black, I assure. He simply said we should stop dancing around the fact that we will never marry, and that I, for one, am still in school, while he was a "mature man about town who needed to settle down".

A small fact should be known about Orion Black. He is the least mature out of all of the first years – but I will not stoop to insulting him. I knew this parting was going to come and I will not wallow in that I am not the one who did it first.

I only just realized- will this mean Tom will be sewn back into my side?

* * *

"Ah Harry," Dumbledore called from his desk, standing up from behind. "I am glad you came."

"I didn't want to miss a meeting, sir" Harry said, closing the door behind him. He'd gotten through a lot more of Eleanor's diary than he though- already on her fifth year. It was odd, the last meeting Dumbledore had with him; he requested that they only meet when he got to a certain date in her diary. Harry got there and so Harry literally got into Dumbledore's office. "Are we going to see a memory?"

Harry didn't really contain his eager. The curious boy in him wanted to see what Eleanor looked like when she was older- the Ron in him reminded that at that moment she was probably older than his grandparents.

Dumbledore nodded his head as they walked over to where the pensive sat upon the desk.

"Now Harry, before we see," Dumbledore said, looking over his spectacles. "This takes place about a week or so after Christmas holiday- I assume you know what I'm talking about?"

Harry nodded. "I have a question though."

The look on Dumbledore's face encouraged Harry to continue.

"Why isn't this, this…memory in her diary? Why can't I read about it?" Not to be taken wrong, Harry wanted to scream that he wanted to see the memory, but he left it at the questions to be answered.

"You'll find Harry that you'll have only a few more entries to read before you're done." Dumbledore said, and added before Harry could respond. "And this memory explains it."

* * *

Harry was in a familiar room, the potions dungeons. It looked as well lit as a dungeon could be, like he knew Slughorn had liked it, but Slughorn was nowhere in sight. Instead there were only two other people in the room, in the far back as opposed to his being in the front. One, the one with long raven hair that hung around her head ("Eleanor," Harry thought), was dutifully brewing a potion- while the other hung around the door ("Tom," Harry acknowledged with hatred), the girl seemed to not notice.

Harry watched the scene from a few desks away, somewhat disappointedly, for a few minutes- nothing seemed to happen. Eleanor kept brewing and Tom kept staring. It wasn't until she dropped a leaf into her potion that something happened.

A fire exploded from underneath cauldron, causing Eleanor to jump backwards a few feet – her hair lifting in an animated style, while Tom swiftly stepped forward out of the doorway to diminish the fire. It wasn't until after the fire had gone that Harry had noticed how everything on her desk seemed to be rumbling a few inches above the actual desk, and Harry had no idea what caused it. Was it Tom that caused the wordless floating?

Harry was distracted from that question when he looked up and saw Eleanor's face. It was very much like looking at a living Snow White- she was still effortlessly pale and her hair was still the comfortable, yet messy dark wave upon her head. Her face hadn't changed much from when she was eleven, although her cheek bones did seem slightly higher- it was still a small, yet big eyed canvas sitting upon the elegantly waif girl, staring with contempt at her cauldron. She hadn't even addressed Tom or questioned why he was there- Harry wasn't sure that she knew he was there until she lowly said.

"This is your fault, you realize."

Tom looked amusedly at the brunette's head; he leaned against the same table as she was.

"How so, Eleanor? Was I the one to mix up a basil leaf with a citradon leaf?"

This time, Eleanor was the one to stare at her counterpart's head, but she held a face of anger. The utensils hovering above the desk were still shaking.

"If it wasn't because you had the bright idea to counter turn every clockwise turn on this potion, then Slughorn would've collected mine before it evaporated!"

They had to brew a potion that had a very small life outside of a bottle; therefore Eleanor had an understandable annoyance Slughorn suggested she make her potion and bottle it after class, seeing as she was incapable of doing so during class. It was Tom's fault, he was showing off his knowledge of herbs and how to break rules without being punished, and that was the reason she was incapable of bottling it.

"Tom, why do you follow me?" By her bored, apathetic tone, and the fact that he read her entries, Harry knew it wasn't the first time she asked this. But much to her, and his, surprise Tom answered. Even the utensils fell out of the air.

"You have power, Eleanor and I can't let you get persuaded by the wrong person."

She stared, struck, at his face. All anger had ebbed away in a matter of nano-seconds and she mouthed the last of his words, as if trying to convince herself that's really what he said.

"You are trying to protect me?" She said slowly, and carefully. She had the strong voice that Harry remembered, the kind that didn't belong in fairytales. Tom looked slightly pleased that his point was understood before she continued. "I am not a play-thing that any person can pick up, Tom. I do not need protection and I am insulted you have taken this long to give such a lame excuse."

Tom stared at her for a few minutes, assessing what he should say next. His jaws clenched tightly for half a second before replying.

"Do you realize you often make things move when you're mad?"

Eleanor opened and closed her mouth. No one talked about that with her, they always assumed a supernatural occurrence and left it at that.

"Yes I do," She said with a clenched jaw. She stared slightly above his shoulder, and Harry could faintly hear the utensils jibber against the desk.

"And has anyone tried to ask you about it in any way?"

"No," She said curtly.

"Then there lies your answer," Tom smirked smugly.

"Are you trying to tell me that you intentionally blocked me off from the world so that no one else can understand why it's a bloody earthquake when I get angry?"

She was seething, Harry could tell just by the clanging noise the utensils were making.

"Do you even understand?" It was a small question that, to Harry, had no right to calm Eleanor down. But it did, and instead of glaring at Tom, she looked forward- almost directly at Harry.

It was a few moments before she spoke, and when she did, she had a far away look on her face. It was the most peaceful he'd seen since she was lying on her bed so many years ago- as if she was truly re-telling her fairy tale.

"My mother had the ability," She said softly. Her knuckles were white as they grasped the table behind her. "If I wouldn't go to sleep like she asked, all the things in my room would rattle until I squeezed my eyes shut. The worst was when right before she died- I threw my dinner across the table because I had told her countless times that I hated spaghetti. My chair rose so rapidly that my head crashed into the ceiling, a permanent dent was made so that we'd never get our safety deposit check back- not that it mattered anyways."

"I can teach you how to control it, Eleanor" Tom replied just as softly. Before she could even open her mouth to ask how, he continued. "You have to trust me, and together we'll be something great."

"Why didn't you try to horde me when Orion was courting me?" Eleanor asked, with an ease as if she hadn't heard his last comment. Tom, however, looked the most uncomfortable Harry had ever seen him. He lifted one arm elegantly and scratched his neck absent mindily as he answered.

"Orion," Tom started. "Orion comes from a noble family and respected me. He would've lead you in the right direction sooner or later."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 (I messed up on counting for the last one...)**

**Thank you for alerting Darlinsworld, and BlackSpade!  
Thanks for favoriting and reviewing MissMusa-here ya go!  
And thanks for reviewing Chini! **

**Um. I really dread the part where we just shift through memories because I have no idea how to end them without being awkward and I have no idea what Dumbledore would say...**

**And for some odd reason I don't like this chapter. Something feels off- I really hate describing person physically.**

* * *

"Harry you have to stop reading," Hermoine sounded concerned, tired even. It was typical, though- Ron had barely spelled a single word write in his essay and Harry hadn't even begun and Hermoine had her heart set on sleeping that night. "Honestly, you need to get working! This essay is due tomorrow!"

Harry just waved his hand at her, the book plumply in his other. He had been reading every spare moment since the meeting, and it was slightly more intriguing because he could now picture Eleanor. The diary itself was lopsided, the left had far more pages that the right, where his fingers held back the pages.

"No!" Hermoine finally got fed up and swatted her hand at the book, swinging it down upon the table. Her hair was frizzy and the bags under her eyes felt like they were pulsing.

The book slamming upon the table startled the sleeping Ron awake, who looked just as peeved as Harry did.

"I have one more entry left, Hermoine" Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Yes and I'm sure it'll be just as riveting as the last entries," Hermoine retorted.

Hermoine had a point- ever since the meeting; her entries had gotten shorter and shorter. Most of the time she described how she avoided accepting Tom's offer and left it at that. She didn't write about whether she wanted to accept or not, about the pros and cons that Harry was so used to. She wrote about Slughorn's sexism and the entry would end.

Harry figured that the offer was weighing on her and that's why should couldn't write- but there only being one entry left troubled him. Out of most of the books he had read, the last chapter always held some sort of closure- but diaries weren't necessarily books and he still wanted closure.

* * *

It's March and Tom has not given up. Instead of our normal, wordless relationship he has taken up to making small talk with me. He actually asked me how my classes were today at dinner- his obsession with having control is making him mental.

Although I can't honestly give him a reason to why I won't accept it. It would be convenient to control my _anger_, but that would mean I'd have to spend more time with Tom. And how did Tom even learn it himself?

None the less, I hated our small talk today. I hate that he's trying to force our relationship into a relationship others hold. We are not others, I refuse to try and be another.

But isn't not utilizing my anger trying to be another? I asked to myself this as he was bragging about his perfect essay. I am not the type to hide my flaws- that is useless. Everyone has flaws and hiding them only highlights it.

So in the end, I accepted Tom's offer. His first instruction was to rid myself of all other people- I reminded him that he had already done that for me. He laughed a cold, awful laugh then told me that he knew I still wrote in this diary.

I suppose that this diary constitutes as a person- I suppose Tom is incredibly paranoid about anyone finding out what he's doing, and he fears that I'd write in detail about all our "lessons".

When in turn, I laughed at him and told him he was being nonsensical- his eyes flashed red. They literally turned colors and I felt, for a minute, that he was going to strike me. I've never felt afraid of Tom before that moment.

* * *

Harry was weary at seeing the memory. The last entry was less than satisfying, but Ron questioned him what he was expecting and he had no idea. He certainly didn't expect the last entry to include how Eleanor murdered Tom and she wound up as Minister of Magic, but he did expect something more…action-packed.

And the memory that he was standing in seemed eerily familiar- he'd seen it before. Tom was on the steps talking to a younger Dumbledore- Moaning Myrtle had just been passed down the steps.

Dumbledore told Harry that this had happened during Eleanor's sixth year and that displeased Harry. He had gotten so used to reading about her life that revisiting her while he had no knowledge of any of the rest of her year didn't feel right. And he did not expect to revisit a memory he'd already seen- but before he could protest to Dumbledore, Dumbledore just nodded his head before walking around the staircase- there he saw Eleanor.

But not the Eleanor he remembered from the potions classroom. This time she looked smaller. He tried to pin some of her gauntness on the shadows, and that she must have grown an inch or two- but he couldn't deny the stress that read on her face. Her hair looked lackluster and thinner than what he remembered, but it still hung around her head like a frame.

And even though her eyes were practically the size of knuts and her mouth was pursed, Eleanor still looked regal.

Tom finally rounded the stair case and walked straight past Eleanor, though, and it took a half jog to keep with the both of them. They walked around so many corners sharply that not even Harry was sure where they were- and it took everything in him not to ask Dumbledore how he was catching up.

When they finally did stop, Eleanor had somehow gotten in front of Tom and turned around fiercely on her heels. The look in her eyes was pure anger and Harry was surprised that nothing in the vicinity had moved an inch.

"You set it on a person!"

"That was an accident," Tom said simply without any emotion. "But it does not matter either way, she was a mudblood afterall."

"You said no one was going to get hurt," Eleanor said through gritted teeth. Her head was slightly lower than Toms, but she still stared up at him with the anger that would've scared anyone. But Tom just stood there, his hands neatly in his pant pockets, his face unfazed.

"I made no promises," He said non-chalantly. "And if you're going to get angry over something that wasn't promised, I have more work to do."

"No Tom," She after a moment's pause. It was the calmest fragment she ever uttered; it seemed like the only fragment she was born to say. "I have no more work to do with you."

Just as quickly as she turned to face Tom, turned away from him and practically ran down the hall and down a corner. There was a small smile tugging at Tom's lips and Harry had no idea why, he just lost Eleanor.

As the memory swirled around them and Harry found himself back in Dumbledore's office, he turned to Dumbledore- who was expectantly looking back at him.

"Did Eleanor just gain a conscious?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chpater 6**

**Thank you grahamcracker for alerting/ reviewing! I'm glad you like my writing - at times I just stare and it and think "Really-that's how sentences are supposed to be?"**

**Thank you Keeper of Magic for reviewing- it'll sort of only be told from memories from now on because the diary ended, so I hope it still holds your interest. **

**Thank you MissMusa for reviewing!  
Thank you Kellie Rose for favoriting!**

**This chapter gets a bit dicey in the end, so bare with me!**

**Why are there so many exclamation points in this AN?**

* * *

"And Harry, you understand that we'll only be looking at memories from now on?"

Harry nodded with slight mockery. He had already been told twice that they were only going to be looking at memories of Eleanor- that she had no other diary for him to probe through. He supposed that Dumbledore just wanted him to understand that, but it was getting extremely annoying.

After his nod, and what Harry suspected as Dumbledore's deliberate ignorance of his mockery, Dumbledore motioned towards the pensive. The only thing he knew about this memory was that it was the summer after her sixth year, although he had no idea what had happened after Moaning Myrtle. Part of him loved that Eleanor had finally gotten rid of Tom, or at least made it seem as if she had gotten rid of Tom- but Harry knew that their relationship wasn't done.

Hermoine felt uneasy about their relationship, too. Even though she was an avid studier, she hadn't dropped weight or looked less like herself like Eleanor did- and while Ron pointed out that knowing what she looked like before was only from two memories beforehand, it was still an odd change that regular stress could not excuse. She couldn't determine what Tom was teaching Eleanor; she hadn't heard of such an anger issue that Eleanor had let alone how to control it.

And nothing dealing with Tom could be good.

As the memory swirled around him, Harry felt as if he'd been there before. When everything settled, he knew he'd been there before- it was Eleanor's room in the orphanage, but something was different. It was dark; the only light came from the window that held no curtains- Harry could see the half moon outside.

Eleanor's elegant frame stood in the middle of the room- her floral summer nightgown hung unfamiliarly around her shoulders to her knees, her arms crossed in front in stubborn modesty. Her back was to the window, and in the light Harry could see Tom's cheeks look even more hollowed amidst the shadows as he faced her. There was something unreadable in his eyes, as their silence continued on- he almost seemed giddy. Harry walked around to see her face, see if it was as hollowed and excited as his, but to his disappointment it hadn't changed from the last time. Her hair had been cut to her shoulders, but that only emphasized her angular face- although it did not hold the excitement like Tom's. It looked bewildered instead.

"Tom where did you go?" Eleanor finally broke the silence, her voice filled with curiosity. She was tall, but she still had to look up into Tom's face, and the way she tilted her head made it seem as if she didn't have eyes at all. "You've been gone all summer, Mrs. Cole called the police but their majesties said they didn't have time for someone who was almost of age."

Tom started to cackle before Eleanor immediately shushed him, glancing towards the door. Harry couldn't help but notice the clock on her desk had moved an inch. Tom stopped laughing, but the glint didn't leave his eyes.

"I found my father," He said in a darkly happy way, his arms moved to wear H was sure he'd grab her shoulders- but he refrained- Harry could see a ring glint on his finger. "I found him."

"You abandoned the only place that was home to you," Eleanor said slowly, her eyebrows knitting together. "So that you could find a father you never wanted?"

"I had to expunge the filth," Tom said with none of the excitement he had only a few seconds earlier. Tom sensed Eleanor's disproval- but was there a need? The act had been done; there was nothing she could due. "I could be nothing with him."

"He was nothing to you, anyways." Eleanor said coldly- Harry didn't understand. Tom basically just told her that he killed his own father and she was ignoring that fact? She wasn't even acting as if she heard it at all. "Why did you even waste your time on him?"

"Do not act as if you are higher than me, Eleanor Delancia Reeds." Tom seemed to grow taller in those seconds, his voice deathly low, his face won of any emotion. "You do not know what it is like to have an ancient bloodline polluted like mine."

"Because it doesn't matter _Tom_," She said Tom with incredible disdain. "He doesn't matter, blood doesn't matter- the fact that we were left by our mothers because they couldn't hold on doesn't matter! The only thing that matters is ourselves, Tom, and in the end it's only be us. Not your father, not your blood, and not your mother."

She had stepped back, away from him and regained the height she lost while Tom towered over her. Her arms fell to her side, and the clock on her desk started to rattle.

Tom's anger slide away into cackles once more as the memory swirled around them. Harry had every intention of going back into Dumbledore's office, but Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder let him know they were diving into another memory.

As the objects around him cleared, Dumbledore leaned towards Harry and whispered "This is her seventh year- Tom and her are still not 'reconciled' and the man is the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Gillium."

At first Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about- yes they were in the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, although there were less desks in the room and there were no bookshelves underneath the shaded windows- but he did not see a teacher. Then a man, a younger one with sandy blond hair, walked out of the office and apparently didn't notice Eleanor, who was slowly stuffing her books into her bag by her side.

"Ah, Miss Reeds," Professor Gillium noticed Eleanor just as he got to his desk at the front of the room, but surpassed it and walked straight to her desk. "Staying after class I see?"

There was something troubling about Professor Gillium, Harry decided. Whether it was the smirk he held for no apparent reason or he was leaning against a desk across from Eleanor's and hadn't stopped staring at her, it didn't matter. He was still creepy.

"It wasn't intentional, Professor," Eleanor said tonelessly, looking up at Gillium before setting her last book into her bag. "Ink had leaked out and I had to make sure all my books were clean."

"Oh no, don't apologize!" Gillium said with a slight laugh- although Harry heard no hint of an apology. Eleanor stood up and put her bag on her shoulder, and waited while Gillium to stand up and say good bye. "I had half a mind to make you stay after class today, anyways."

Eleanor raised her eyebrow as she slowly edged her way towards the end of the room, with her back near the windows- a ploy to get out the door as fast as possible.

"I guess you chose to agree with the other half then, sir." Gillium didn't get the hint that Eleanor was edging away from him specifically; he mirrored her actions until he was right in front of her.

"But fate has shown me that I should not have," Gillium said lowly, with a creepy smile entering his face. Eleanor had lifted her leg slightly sideways to move away from him, but Gillium's hand moved first and had landed softly upon her face. Both hers and Harry's eyes widened- but while her lips had pursued in confusion, Harry looked back at Dumbledore who nodded ashamedly.

"Professor, this is not appro-"

Gillium interrupted her with a long "sh" and took a step closer to her- Eleanor's instincts kicked in and she put her arms up to his chest, trying to push off. Gillium was as stupid as Harry assumed, though, and took the motion in a wrong way by lowering his head closer until Harry heard a shout of an incantation he didn't recognize and Gillium laid still upon the ground, his hands in the air as if he was still petting Eleanor's face. His eyes were open and his mouth was in between a pucker and a grin, but he laid eerily upon the floor.

Harry looked up at the door to see Tom standing there- his wand raised but his face the stone that it had always been. He stepped closer but Eleanor stood her ground, her arms had fallen gracefully to her side- her face stuck in shock. Her eyes kept darting between Tom and Gillium, but each time she laid her eyes upon Tom, he had gotten a step closer. The moment he was within reach, Tom put his arms on her shoulders and she sunk into his arms, her face to the side with an unreadable expression.

* * *

"Oh Merlin," Hermoine sank into her chair in the common room further; a look of disgust divulged itself on her face. "He was fired, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said scratching the back of his neck. It was an awkward situation to watch, let alone tell his two best friends. "Dumbledore says he was fired within that night- Tom had confronted the headmaster."

"That's twisted," Ron said. "But who would have thought that Tom would do something decent for someone else,"

"I don't think it was entirely for her," Hermoine said slowly- the crease on her brow depended as she continued to think.

"What?" Harry blurted out.

"Well, you said that she allowed him to hold her in the end, which is weird for someone like her who disliked Tom. It obviously was a symbol of her finally trusting him again after the basilisk- Tom showed her that he was there for her."

"Hermoine- symbols don't happen in real life, this is not one of those fraction novels you read." Ron said seriously, but before Hermoine could correct him, Harry asked something.

"You think that Tom saved her because he wanted to be there for her?"

"No, I'm saying that Tom saved her because he wanted her to think that he'd always be there for her- so that she'd trust him again." Hermoine stated. "So that he could use her for whatever he had originally intentioned."


	7. Chapter 7

**Uh...This is more than tardy. This is like wishing someone a happy Christmas in July...I AM SO SORRY. But I got caught up with school and all this other stuff...excuses excuses...**

**Thank you Sailor, Sirius, Dance, Lucky, Alexlee, Brutal, and Hotaru for alerting!**

**Thank you Chini, Alexlee, and Katherine for favoriting!**

**Thank you Blackspade for reviewing, sometimes I think all my twists are predictable!**

**Keeper - hopefully this is one step closer for you to figure it out?**

**Missmusa- ha! he is a bit backwards**

**JB- Here ya go!**

**Jess- Thank you so much, you're awesome for reading it (this goes to all my othre readers as well!**

**Alexlee- The suspense better not kill you, or else you won't find out what happens!**

**Brutal- Thanks! sorry it's taken so long.**

* * *

Harry was tired, too tired to be gallivanting in a memories tonight. He still had no idea what Draco was up to and he had an essay to finish, but Dumbledore did not keep any of this in mind while he called the meeting.

So instead of playing spy or working on the essay in a manor that Hermoine would approve of, Harry was standing in a dilapidated house for no apparent reason – Dumbledore had only said that Eleanor and Tom had graduated. They had already been in the house for three minutes without any action – He could only tell that it was a one story house: a kitchen and family room that were attached, a bedroom to the left of the kitchen and an office across from the room. Harry still had no idea where the bathroom was, it probably was in the bedroom, but he thought it would be inappropriate to ask Dumbledore if he could go exploring. The wallpaper was falling down slowly at the top of the walls and not all of the cupboards had hardware on them, or even the same stain. How this had anything to do with Eleanor, Harry couldn't even guess.

Another two minutes passed until Harry heard the front door slam open, it was another thirty seconds until he saw Tom and Eleanor walk out of the hallway that connected the door with the rest of the house. Tom looked exactly like the Tom he saw in Smith's memory, when he got Hufflepuff's cup. Eleanor, on the other hand, looked too beautiful to even be within a mile of the house. Harry couldn't tell if she had lost or gained any weight since the last time he saw her, the grey pea coat that was wrapped around her torso told him both that it was winter and that the hallway did not have a front closet. Her dark hair was still at her shoulders and the cold had forced the color of her cheeks to be tinted pink – Harry thought she should've stayed in the cold a lot more.

"Tom, I could have easily gotten food on my own." Eleanor stated annoyed, shedding the pea coat and placing it on the back of a scrappy chair that sat at an equally scrappy table in the kitchen. "You do not have to accompany me everywhere I go."

She was in a simple black skirt that reached her knees and a matching pull-over sweater – Harry decided she didn't put on any pounds, but at least none was lost.

Tom still had his robe on, though, and stood straight up beside the love seat that couldn't cost more than 50 pounds.

"I told you not to call me Tom," He growled, eyes slightly twitching.

Eleanor actually laughed a hearty sound that did not belong in the house just as much as Eleanor did not belong in the house. Her head had tilted back as she leaned against the table, her fingers slightly gripping the end.

"It is so amusing when you let yourself believe that after 12 years of knowing each other, and you forcing me to move in with you so that your plan can be played out," She lowered her head, and stared straight at Tom – the glint of joy still implanted in her eyes. "I will call you any other name but Tom – or worse, I will call you Lord Voldemort."

Her laughter began to be the only thing Harry could hear as the memory swirled around Dumbledore and him.

As the mist turned and turned, other voices filtered into his ear drums. Most of the time they were Eleanor's, her saying things similar to her statement that Tom did not have to go with her everywhere. Each time, though, it sounded less like Eleanor's tone, always more defeated and more like a plea, than a command. He didn't want to see her face utter these words, he didn't want to see her lose the confidence that she always had, the confidence that always stood up to Tom.

When the mist stopped swirling, Harry's stomach was caught in his throat. Eleanor stood, her wand arm sticking perpendicularly to her body, shaking slightly. Her hair wasn't any different than he saw in the other memory, and physically her face had not changed at all – but for the first time, Harry didn't think that Eleanor looked stunning. She was pale and her eyes did not blink at all, and he had a feeling that no blood was running through her veins at all, but he could not figure out what psychologically made him think that she was not gorgeous.

As he traced to point to what her wand was pointing at, he figured it out. On the ground laid a man, unmoving and a wand strewn near his ear. He was dead and Eleanor had killed him. Eleanor was capable of killing – of being just like Tom.

Tom had reached out for Eleanor's shoulder from behind her; a smirk looked too evil to belong to a human played upon his lips. Harry didn't know that it was possible to apparate in memories, so it was a surprise when he felt his naval being tugged on, and saw that he was back at the derelict house.

Eleanor hadn't lowered her arm. Her eyes still hadn't blinked and her blood still hadn't decided to move. The chairs at the table had started to knock against each other.

But Tom hadn't stopped smirking, and he walked around from behind her to in front of her. One hand moved from her shoulder and forced her wand arm down, letting his hand linger upon hers – that didn't make her budge.

"You did excellent, Eleanor" He said while his hand continued to trace up her arm. Her eyes flicked up to his. "Really excellent."

Harry could see the muscles of her jaw move, as if she was going to open it, but Eleanor never did. Tom took the opportunity to move closer to Eleanor, his hand had finally made it to her cheek. His other hand snaked off her shoulder to the back of her neck and he lowered his lips onto hers. It looked painfully stiff at first, and Harry wasn't even sure it was possible to be anything different that when kissing Voldemort (and that wasn't something he ever planned on thinking about anyways), until he saw Eleanor's own arms robotically grasp his back.

Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder told him it was time to leave.

* * *

"I AM EATING!" Ron screeched as soon as H muttered the word "snogging" at the breakfast the following morning.

"Real mature, Ronald" Hermoine scoffed. "It's not like you mind when you're doing to snogging."

"Oh right, like you enjoy the image of Voldemort stuffing his tongue down someone's throat." Ron had had enough of Hermoine's judging, Harry was sure, but he also thought that the blunt statement was unneeded so early in the morning.

Hermoine's green face told him that she felt the same way.

"So, did they…" Hermoine asked timidly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did they,"

"Yeah, that's what Dumbledore said." Harry interrupted her, saving her from saying it. "Although how he found out, I don't want to know."

"Whaf did Iouf jufft ffay?" Ron said with a mouth full of bacon. Harry and Hermoine just gave him a stern look.

"Dumbledore said that it was his way of congratulating Eleanor and that she had actually started to love him while they were living out in the house. He was messing with her emotions so that she wouldn't stray."

"Stockholm syndrome," Hermoine nodded quietly.

"Doesn't make it any less disgusting," Ron muttered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tada! Only a week wait, that's a shocker! **

**Even more of a shocker? This is the last one...I know, I know I should have given everyone a warning, but it's a long chapter and hopefully it'll clear up some answers........**

**And if it doesn't, I have a [sort of] sequel planned out.**

**Onto the gratitudes!**

**Thank you Berta, Ninja, Vixen, Tasha, Stylw and Patricia for alerting!  
Thank you Tasha and Brunette for favoriting!**

**Vixen- You don't know how happy your review made me. It's been a long week filled with...less than nice people so it was comforting to read that you didn't read my story and think "God, she's horrible". I hope this lives up to your expectations!**

* * *

"Now this next memory, Harry" Dumbledore stated as they moved around his desk towards the pensive, the white wisps swimming in seemingly nothing. "Is my own."

"Your own?" Harry asked, truly interested. Maybe this was finally the memory that explained how Dumbledore came know, and obtain, everything from Eleanor's life – although it would take away some of the allure of Dumbledore. He had grown quite accustomed to thinking that Dumbledore was just born knowing everything.

"Yes," Dumbledore responded with a slight head nod. He waved the weathered hand at the pensive before suggesting that it was time to "peer in".

If it weren't for the sunken feeling in Harry's stomach that he'd experience a few moments before, Harry could've sworn that he hadn't left Dumbledore's office at all. He looked around the room, the room he was in before he went into the pensive, and only could notice a few differences. A shelf was on an opposite wall, a vase was missing off his desk – small things that only a true observer would notice at first glance.

Of course, Harry wasn't a "true observer", yet he could still spy the younger looking Dumbledore sitting at the desk, the biggest piece of evidence that Harry had actually left the office in the first place. The younger Dumbledore was diligently writing on a piece of parchment before a loud knock sounded throughout the room, he didn't look up while saying "Come in", though.

Harry watched as Eleanor Reeds walked, floated more like it, through the room. Subconsciously he stepped back as she passed him, catching his breath. She had changed and Harry, like the last time, couldn't exactly pin-point how. Perhaps it was the eloquent, yet small wrinkles that had appeared at the edges of her eyes, or how her French bun made her cheekbones more pointed. He supposed that the best candidate was how she looked less like a skinny teenager; she was a mature woman now. Albeit, the aristocratic air still hung around her like a perfume and to a certain extent, Harry still felt that he could break her if he hugged her too tight.

Eleanor stopped in front of the chairs on the opposite side of the younger Dumbledore, and waited patiently for Dumbledore's head to look upwards. When he finally did (the older Dumbledore whispered in Harry's ear that he had wanted to finish the sentence he was writing before devoting his time to Eleanor), Dumbledore didn't say anything. He motioned for her to take a seat.

She gracefully sat, the black crew neck sweater perfectly aligned to the straight back of the chair.

"Are you not curious as to why I requested a meeting?" She asked after a few moments of silence, undoubtedly filled with one of their infamous staring contests.

"You were the one to call the meeting," A signature twinkle appeared in the younger Dumbledore's eyes. "I thought it was good manors to have you direct our conversation."

Instead of replying, Eleanor slid out a small black book from a pocket Harry didn't know she had. She placed the book on Dumbledore's desk, retracting a veiny hand and positioning it back in her lap.

"This is my diary." Eleanor stated, as if that was the only sentence the world had ever needed.

"A very peculiar gift," Dumbledore led on, a smile in his voice. He picked the book and fingered the edges. "But not the most, many ambassadors have odd ideas about what a Professor needs."

Eleanor didn't laugh or smile, but Harry expected that. Her stoic expression was plastered on her face as she reached back into her invisible pocket and held a small vile, filled with the white wisps.

"My memories," She labeled as she set the vile on the desk. Dumbledore still held the book in his hand, but Harry could see his eyes wandering towards the glass with pure curiosity. "You are skeptical at this interaction, Dumbledore."

It was a statement, not a question and Harry could see that Dumbledore was amused.

"Pardon me, but I was under the impression that you were quite close with Tom – it seems foreign that you would give me potential ammunition against him."

Eleanor's gaze faltered for the first time after Dumbledore's proclamation. It fell upon the window over Dumbledore's shoulder; the day was dark, clouds promising rain littered the sky. Eleanor's felt at home in this kind of weather, the unsettling feeling kept her prepared for anything.

"Tom and I were close," Eleanor finally broke the silence and re-encountered Dumbledore's eyes. "But there are things that are more important than relationships – Tom and I both understood this."

They sat in silence for four more minutes, Hary felt like shouting at them. None of this provided closure for him – Eleanor had finally gotten away from Tom? She willingly gave Dumbledore all of her recollections? There were answers to these statements within the memory, Harry knew, but he did not know the answers to the question "why".

"If you don't mind me asking," Dumbledore said, waiting for Eleanor's head to give a curt nod. "How did you manage to get away from Tom? I was under the impression he was quite…possessive."

"Tom wasn't possessive over me, Dumbledore. He was possessive over who I could've been in anyone else's hands."  
-------------------------------------

Harry sat around the fire, Hermoine dutifully mumbling "Maybe…" to herself while Ron slept on the couch. He had gotten out of Dumbledore's office a few hours ago, yet Eleanor's last statement played over in his mind and he still couldn't figure it out.

Hermoine couldn't figure it out either, which explained why she grew more irritated with each passing "Maybe". Ron grew more irritated with each "Maybe" that passed Hermoine's lips, and eventually fell asleep because sitting around a fire, discussing what some dead person could have meant was not interesting.

"Maybe," She drew out, sounding as if she was finally content with an explanation. "Maybe she means that she was collected by Voldemort, that she was an item to sit upon a self."

It seemed strange that Harry understood an idea Hermoine proposed with only one explanation and yet his brows slowly un-furrowed as her proposal stewed in his brain.

"Like with how he isolated her from school, so no one else could 'control her'" Harry suggested. "But why would he just let her go, where other people could control her?"

Hermoine bit her lip as she wondered this, although there was a reduction of "maybe's" that were sounded.

"He must have had a reason to suspect that Eleanor wouldn't get 'collected' by anyone else," She sounded very unsure of herself, and yet her hypothesis still made sense to Harry. "He must have had a connection to Eleanor that not even Eleanor could break, but I have no idea what that could be."

"We don't even know why Voldemort wanted Eleanor in the first place," Harry said angrily. He just wanted a happy ending to this story, he wanted to know everything like an omniscient narrator and it troubled him that he didn't.

"I've been thinking about that too," Hermoine sounded very tired, almost as if she was ready to fall down asleep like Ron. "What if he didn't have a plan for her?"

Harry's brows furrowed instantly.

"What if he just kept her around in case he needed her, instead of creating a plan where he would need her?"

"But why would he keep around Eleanor for that long without a plan?" Harry's head was starting to hurt.

"Harry, he created seven horcruxes when any other person would think they'd be okay with, and wouldn't even dream of making more than one. Eleanor had the ability to make objects move around her, Voldemort must have thought that there'd be a point where he'd need her and so he was covering his tracks by keeping her around."

"And how'd he keep his tracks covered when Eleanor left him?"

"That's why we need to know what kept the two bonded together after she left," Hermoine yawned. "Because it must've been strong enough for him not to kill her after committing treason."

* * *

Dumbledore had told Harry this was the hardest memory he had to procure. He had managed to sneak it from a patient who was asleep in the same hospital room that held Eleanor Reeds. Harry didn't bother asking whether Dumbledore meant St. Mungo's or not, because if he had, Dumbledore would've said St. Mungo's.

Eleanor sat in her bed, an IV attached to the inner part of her pale elbow. Part of her paleness was due to the hospital lights, they weren't favorable towards anyone, but Harry couldn't deny that the sickly glow was the lighting's entire fault. The cheeks looked like they were hollowed out by an ice cream scoop and her hair sat unwashed in a bun on top of her head. Her face reflected an age that was too old to be accurate, but she was still proud. Her eyes looked out the adjacent window while her nose was raised slightly in the air.

Harry hadn't even noticed the other person walk in the room until he spoke.

"They say you have less than two weeks to live," Lord Voldemort spoke in a low voice, almost hissing without an emotion. Eleanor wasn't sure how he could have possibly found out her life expectancy, but she didn't question him.

"Doctors have been both right and wrong before," Eleanor said, turning her face to meet her old acquaintance. It seemed odd that she hadn't seen him in years after living together for half her life, yet it was natural that he was in front of her at that moment. "I'm not going to speculate until it happens."

"They also say that it's a hereditary cancer,"

"The only thing my father ever gave me," Eleanor said simply, no malice within her voice. Voldemort almost sneered at her.

"You do realize that you'll have no chance of survival in this _muggle_ hospital?"

"I'm not on a quest to be immortal, Tom and it's no longer your concern. If I want to die naturally, you can not change my mind."

They were silent for a few moments, but instead of the usual hint of hostility, Eleanor seemed docile – seemed content with the transaction between her and Voldemort.

"And our daughter, you are willing to leave her?"

Eleanor's soft laughter distracted Harry from screaming "THEY HAD A CHILD?" out loud. He had found their link.

"Again Tom, she is not your concern, neither will the person to whom she'll go to."

Voldemort didn't seem at all perturbed that he'd have no presence in his child's life, only perturbed that the mother wouldn't have a presence.

"But why are you concerned, Tom?"

Voldemort had moved closer to Eleanor's IV, a finger ran up and down the tube, his eyes not leaving hers – yet he didn't speak a word.

"I did love you Tom," Eleanor whispered quietly. Harry wasn't sure she'd ever admit this anywhere else but her deathbed, although Harry couldn't imagine why anyone would admit this at all. "And I was fairly certain if we hadn't grown up like we did, you'd love me too."

Her laughter didn't echo through the room, but he could still hear it.

"But if we hadn't grown up the way we did, I'd still be here in the hospital. My end would not be different."

Voldemort had looked tense ever since Eleanor said the word "love", but he didn't advert his eyes.

"None of that matters," He said loud, the hiss still hiding in his voice.

"What does matter is that you got your wish," Eleanor continued when he gave her a questioning look. "I no longer will have the chance to be in the wrong hands."

* * *

Harry sat on the ledge of the window in his dorm, the breathing of the other boys fizzed throughout the room. He held his knees as he looked out at the lake, confusion fizzing within his own body. Why was he so affected by Eleanor's death? He hadn't even met her and she spent the majority of her life with his nemesis, yet here he was with a pit forming in his heart.

He hadn't really figured out anything, Harry decided after an hour of looking at the lake. Voldemort had a child, and had actually had a semi-relationship with another human being, but what exactly did that show? He hadn't loved Eleanor and he didn't care for their daughter, so he wasn't completely human after all. And it's not like Harry was trained to fight Voldemort with a special power after learning about Eleanor. What was he going to do, scream "Eleanor Reeds" at him in hopes of distractoin, so that he could tackle Voldemort? No, that didn't make sense.

But Voldemort did have to have some feelings, after visiting Eleanor in the hospital, right? He had to have cared about her a little to subtly offer her a chance to live forever, or was Harry insane for imagining the darkest wizard of all time to have feelings?

* * *


End file.
